


things in there that scratch about

by evewithanapple



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 21:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/pseuds/evewithanapple
Summary: A noise in the night.





	things in there that scratch about

**Author's Note:**

  * For [st_aurafina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/gifts).

“Verity!” Kat’s shaking her shoulder. “Verity, wake up. There’s something moving downstairs.”

“N’uhhhhh?” Slowly, Verity unsticks her cheek from her pillow and sits up, running a hand through the mess that was her hair. “Wha’s that?”

“Downstairs,” Kat repeated. She was still holding onto Verity’s shoulder. “_Listen_ -“

They both hold still for a moment. Verity cocks her head to the side, listening. On the one hand, this was Kat’s first night in a new house, out in the country; every bump in the night was unnerving to her. On the other hand, having both lived in houses with actual demons in residence, they’re both a touch on the hyper-vigilant side. It’s not a high price to pay for making sure their house is demon-free.

“There,” Kat whispers. “Can you hear it?”

Verity can. A repetitive sound: shuffle-shuffle-thump, shuffle-shuffle-thump. Like something being dragged across the floor. Or something dragging _itself_ across the floor.

“Yeah,” Verity says, “I hear it.” She reaches under the bed and comes up with her trusty baseball bat, which has travelled with her from her freshman dorm to her apartment in Puyallup, and now finally to the house she and Kat plan to call home. Well, the shell of a house. It’s still something of a ruin at the moment, but it came cheap, and it’ll be a whole new building once Verity’s done with it.

Kat grabs at her arm as Verity stands. “You shouldn’t - “

“I’ll be fine.” Verity hefts the bat. “If anything with glowing red eyes or fangs comes at me, I’ll yell for help, okay? And you can call the cops.”

“No landline yet,” Kat mutters, “and barely any reception.” She hits the power button on her phone, and the screen lights up blue. “I’ve only got one bar. And who am I gonna call anyway?”

“The Ghostbusters,” Verity says blandly, then dodges when Kat swipes at her. “I’m _serious_!”

“So am I, mostly,” she says. “You can call the cops if you really have to, but I don’t think you will.” _I hope not, anyway_.

Their bedroom is at the top of the main stairs, aka the only part of the house they’ve really cleared out so far. The core rooms - bedroom, bathroom, kitchen - are mostly free of debris. It’s all the others that are still a mess. They haven’t fixed the creaky steps, though, so the wood under Verity’s feet lets out a long groan with every step she takes down the stairs. So much for the element of surprise.

“All right,” she says loudly, more for Kat’s benefit than her own. “Let’s see what you’re up to.” And she swings around the kitchen door, bat held high, slapping the light switch with her free hand.

And stops.

And stares.

And_ laughs_.

“Kat,” she calls, trying to muffle her snorts with her hand. “Kat - come down here.”

Sitting across from her, on their kitchen counter - what had been their newly cleared kitchen counter, when they’d gone up to bed - is an overweight raccoon, goggling at her from behind a mask of black fur. The _shuffle-shuffle-thump_ they’d heard was the sound of the raccoon dragging their trash can behind him, evidently helping himself to its contents as he went. There’s banana peels and sandwich crusts strewn across both counter and floor, and what looks like mustard smeared around the raccoon’s mouth.

“An animal of discerning taste, clearly,” Verity says. The mustard had started out as a topping for her ham and cheese sandwich. “I can respect that. Not if you’re getting it from my garbage, though.”

She hears Kat’s footsteps on the stairs - or, more accurately, the steps groaning as she steps on them - and then she’s rounding the kitchen doorway, eyes going wide as she catches sight of the raccoon. “Oh!” she says. “Oh, it’s _cute_!”

“It is _not _cute,” Verity retorts. Kat, who grew up in a big city, has an urbanite’s wide-eyed naiveté when it comes to wild animals; Verity, who spent a good chunk of her childhood in or around the woods, is a lot more cynical. “It’s a scavenging trash panda and it broke into our house. Also, it probably carries diseases.”

Kat leans over Verity’s shoulder to get a better look at the racoon. “You don’t have any diseases, do you?” she coos. “You were probably just hungry.”

“He doesn’t look hungry to me,” Verity says. The racoon - who had sat up and all but preened when Kat came in - hops down from the counter with an audible _thud_, punctuating Verity’s argument for her. They watch as he waddles across the floor, a half-eaten apple clutched in one of his paws, before vanishing through - _oh, crap_ \- the unfastened cat door.

“My fault,” Verity says with a sigh. “I meant to lock it before I went to bed, but I completely forgot.” Kat had gone to bed at the eminently reasonably hour of ten, while Verity had stayed up studying blueprints until one in the morning, when she’d finally stumbled upstairs and flopped into bed. The cat door actually did have a hook-and-eye latch to keep it closed to the outside world . . . if only Verity had remembered to use it.

“It’s not your fault,” Kat says. “I locked it before I went upstairs. Look - “ She crouches down next to the door and pokes at one of the panels. It swings back and forth at the slightest brush of her fingers. “The racoon must have reached through to get the latch.”

“Well, mother_fucker_,” Verity says. She sets the bat down, leaning it against the wall. “I’ll have to nail a board across the whole thing until we can put a new door in.” She glares at the door as thought it rotted through as a personal affront. What kind of wood were these doors even made of, anyway? Pine? Something cheap and shitty, anyway.

“You can do it tomorrow.” Kat comes back to Verity and loops her arms around Verity’s neck, kissing her cheek. “The racoon’s already eaten, I don’t think we’ll have any more problems tonight.”

“Unless he brings his buddies back,” Verity says, but she relaxes into Kat’s arms and turns her head to kiss her properly. “You really thought that thing was cute?”

“With those little paws? And that mask?” Kat pulls back and blinks. “It’s adorable. I bet it would be soft to pet, too. Its fur looked so fuzzy.”

“If you want a fuzzy thing to pet, I’ll get you a dog,” Verity says. “A big one. Big enough to chase off the local pests.” Now that she thinks of it, the idea has some appeal. She’s never had any pet larger than a goldfish, and Kat’s only mentioned a childhood cat who had been old, deaf, and cranky by the time she was born. “How about a Newfoundland? It would definitely keep us safe from things going bump in the night.”

Kat kisses Verity’s nose. “I thought that was your job.”

“Is that all I am? A security guard?” Kat pulls back and sticks her tongue out at Verity, who laughs. “Fine, it’s my job. But I want a sidekick.”

“Mmm, _two_ adorable bodyguards?” Kat takes Verity’s hand, pulling her back towards the groaning stairs. “I don’t know how I could possibly say no.” She pauses. “But you have to walk it.”

“I’ll walk it, you brush and bathe it, and it gets to sleep at the foot of the bed?” Verity says, and Kat nods at her. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> [A good dog who will protect you from demons and raccoons](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/ASpWY0HWaQJ4JpOohknW2inJKm0HruP82mrw1tkJMl-1HdqToLKLYGI/).


End file.
